Inevitable Checkmate
by JustJasper
Summary: Angst bingo 'lost'. Reid is lost in the snow.


"**And I, I wanted you to know, it was you that we were thinking of as we quietly died in the snow." – Alkaline Trio: Donner Party**

He knew when he'd gone around in a circle, when he came across his own tracks in the snow. Cold was meant to stimulate the brain, but the temperature was so low, and Reid wearing so few pieces of clothing that he could barely think at all. But he kept walking despite, knowing if he stopped he would die. Perhaps it would be a fraction better than dying at the hands of the unsub he'd escaped from. He would stop in the end, he knew. It was inevitable. He was lost and he was going to freeze before he got out of the snowy woodland; every tree looked the same, and even though there was no wind the snow was falling so thickly it made everything look identical and filled in his own tracks.

His shirt and slacks were soaked through, and he had shoved his fingers up under his armpits in the hope of not losing them to the cold, knowing they would be the first things his body sacrificed to stay alive. It meant when he tripped on a rock under the foot of snow, he had no way to stop himself falling face first into it.

He was going to die in the snow.

* * *

><p>Morgan hooked the black pawn off the chess board with his little finger, setting it aside on the coffee table, moved his white knight into its place, and then turned his attention back to exploring the structure of Reid's neck with his mouth.<p>

These sessions of kissing and playing chess simultaneously perfectly suited Reid's style of play, of distraction and sleight of hand; a thumb pressing against the pulse in Morgan's neck as he held their faces close and made his move with the other hand; extended kisses between moves, leaving the man not always sure if they were calculated or that Reid had simply got distracted in the physical intimacy.

"You, my pretty little thing," Morgan murmured, although the only thing little about Reid was perhaps that he was skinny, "think I haven't mastered playing you at chess while I have a hard-on." He pushed his hips up into Reid's for good measure. "I have."

"Oh?" he hitched up a brow, kissing along Morgan's jaw and rocking a little in the man's lap as the older considered the board. "Well, sex is like chess."

"Is it?" Morgan seemed amused, reaching out to make his move.

"Yes." Reid nodded, one hand pulling his face closer at the neck, lips brushing as he spoke, the other reaching down between their bodies for his zipper. "An aggressive opening..." he squeezed Derek through his jeans to strengthen his metaphor. "A patient midgame..."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, capturing the man's mouth for a kiss, "we do like to take our time..."

"And an inevitable checkmate." Reid finished, turning enough to consider the board for just a few seconds before he moved his own piece, taking out one of Morgan's bishops. "I always beat you."

"And I always make you shout my name." Morgan countered. Both were quite true.

The inevitable would have come to pass, if it weren't for a phone call from Hotch to Reid's cell. Morgan knew the ringtone, and let out a sigh, leaning back and glancing out of the window at grey skies still holding back the forecasted snow.

"Yeah, we'll be there soon." Reid said, and clicked the phone shut. "Minnesota. Four men; tortured, killed."

"Guess we'll have to save the checkmate for later." Morgan purred, leaning in for one last kiss.

* * *

><p>Morgan trudged on through the snow, trying to follow the tracks left in the heavy fall, which was becoming more difficult as white continued to pile into old marks. They'd found the cabin and then caught up with the unsub not ten minutes later, Hotch had arrested him, and Morgan had refused to wait. Instead he continuing on, Hotch promised there would be a search party following; one of the local rangers had had the presence of mind to give him a flair gun in case he got lost, and a tightly packed casualty blanket for when he found Reid.<p>

"Reid!" he called out. "Reid!"

He kept going, knowing Reid had been pursued, and it was the only reason he would risk the cold unknown terrain, night fast approaching. If he wasn't found by nightfall, they were going to be recovering a corpse in the morning. The rescue team wouldn't be more than five minutes behind him, but through the snow it may as well have been miles for how alone he felt.

"Reid!"

He didn't see the shape slumped over in the snow until he was six feet away, and he almost screamed in relief and terror.

"Reid!" He rushed to the fallen man's side, turning him gently and relieved to see tiny puffs of breath from his blue lips. "I've got you, Reid."

"Morgan..." Reid's eyes fluttered open, barely focusing as Morgan ripped open the blanket pack with his teeth.

"Spencer, you need to stand for me." he encouraged, practically pulling the man into a standing position with him. He was barely able to take his own weight as Morgan wrapped the blanket around him, and then he scooped him up into his arms. He was a thin man but he wasn't small by any stretch of the imagination, but Morgan would carry him for miles if he needed to. Reid gripped hard at his lover's Kevlar, burying his face in the blanket and the man's shoulder, a rush of literal and emotional warmth when the man tucked the blanket around his face, shielding him completely from the elements.

"I'VE GOT HIM!" Morgan bellowed in the direction he'd come, hoping the rescue party would hear and hurry along.

"Derek.." he murmured from within the blanket, and it would have been amusing if Morgan didn't feel like he could sense the man's life slipping away in his arms as he moved back in the direct he'd come. "Don't want to die here..."

"You're not going to die." Morgan said, hugging him closer. "I'VE GOT HIM!"

"Everyone dies..." the man mused weakly.

"You don't today. I promise. We have a chess game to finish, remember?"

"To lose." Reid said weakly, his grip slackening.

"Spencer?"

"Six moves. I win."

Despite himself, Morgan felt a twitch of a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

"**A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere." - Nathaniel Hawthorne**


End file.
